Not Quite Fantastical
by Xenoglossy
Summary: The romance of motorcycles and dusty old memories. You can't just go to jail for 13 years and expect everything to be the same when you come back. (somewhat slashy)


**PRE FIC RANTINGS AND A SPRINKLE OF DISCLAIMER:** So whatever happened to Sirius's motorcycle? Oddly enough, it never comes up again. I decided to write about it. I maintain that anyone who loves motorcycles randomly must have listened to Meatloaf at some point in their lives.

Ownage of Harry Potter= JKR. Writage/Readage of Fiction= us

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Not Quite Fantastical

Cephied Variable

Sirius had always mantained very strong and sound reasons for having bought the old thing and magicked it up. Remus never understood where he got the idea in the first place, having been raised all isolated and suffocated in his pureblood mansion-cage. He supposed that it was Lily's fault. Sirius was always hounding her for the latest in Muggle "rock music", which Remus really could care less about being the sheltered and quiet farm boy that he was, but Sirius had stated quite firmly that there was a sort of mystical romanticism and sense of escapism associated with the motorcycle that wasn't quite fantastical as dragons, but was certainly magical in it's own way. James just advised everyone to smile, nod and go on pretending that it all made sense because Sirius was Sirius and was going to do what he would do even if everyone else in the world thought him crackers for doing it.

When Hagrid dragged the cumbersome thing up to his doorstep just three days after the tradgedy of the Potters, Remus felt as if he could kick a wall in out of fustration. Hagrid rubbed the back of his neck guiltily and shrugged somewhat helplessly when Remus demanded why he had brought it to _him_.

"I dun know..." Hagrid's gaze was always unsure, especially when people were cross. Remus might have felt bad if his eyes had not been full of the offending vehicle, "I jus' kinda figured yeh might know what ta do with it..." he pasued and his voice quickened, dropping a few decibles, "Cause'. y'know, you and Sirius were kinda, uh, close."

_'Merlin, how does everyone know about that'_ Remus sighed and rubbed his temples, "Listen, Hagrid, I really wouldn't know what to do with it and I don't have any need or desire for it either. Why don't you just keep it?"

Hagrid met his gaze, wide-eyed, and shook his head resolutely, "N-no! Yeh know I can't do that, Lupin. I ain't s'posed to be usin' magic in the first place, so..."

Remus nodded tiredly, "Right, right." he pressed his eyes shut for a few long seconds, then opened them again, staring at the motorcycle fully. He deliberated while Hagrid shifted from foot to foot nervously, "All right. I'll try to find something to do with it."

Hagrid nodded heavily. He looked relieved, but also seemed to understand Remus's position on the issue. He waved politely, then was off, taking his long, giant-sized strides into the horizen. Remus stalked out to the motorcycle and looked it up and down, sizing it up and taking in the finer details before giving up upon the realization he knew absolutely nothing about Muggle technology. He turned on his heel and went back into his house, slamming the door shut and locking the dreadlock.

He was not pleased. The last thing he needed was something else to remind him of Sirius. The morning Prophet was still spread open across his kitchen table, flashing him a nearly still black and white image of his old friend glowering and hunched over in a temporary cell in the basement of the Ministry building. The hearing wasn't for another week, but Remus had no doubt that Sirius would be all the newspaper talked about until then. Him and Harry Potter, of course, which hurt nearly as much because while the rest of the world saw an unwitting savior, all Remus could see were Lily's eyes and James's laugh.

The newspaper Sirius shifted suddenly and the slight movement caught Remus's attention as he began pulling milk from the icebox. The man in the picture looked as if he had been wiping tears from his eyes, but the motion had been too quick and too fleeting, so Remus couldn't be sure. He looked at the milk and felt like cursing. Sirius's favorite, of course. Remus had always preferred his milk skim, but Sirius loved milk so thick it was almost cream. He also liked coffee better than tea, which was why Remus was forcing down a mug of sticky, brown slop when he would rather be sipping camoline. He blinked at the milk for a moment, then threw it as hard as he could against the far wall.

The bottle did not shatter and Remus could not decide if this was beacuse the glass was thick, or because his throw was too weak. The cork did pop out, however, and the milk began to seep across the floor like one, gelatinous mass rather than the liquid it was meant to be. Sirius had not lived there, but he might have well had with all the place felt of him. His clothes and books littered the living room and the black of Padfoot's fur had embedded itself into the couch. There was an old muggle record player garnered from Lily hooked up in one corner, already covered in dust but with a record titled _'Bat Out of Hell'_ still spinning loosely around it's pike. 

Remus felt Sirius in the exact temperature of the small cottage and heard him in the soft creaks and moans of the wood adjusting itself to fit the earth and no matter how many times he washed the bedspread the smell still lingered in Remus's wolf-sharp senses. It made him so angry- the sick and painful kind of anger that comes in sharp, unwanted flashes and burns all the way down to the marrow of the bones. It was a kind of anger Remus had never felt before in his life and it hurt so much that his hands shook and his voice cracked and he often felt like crying whenever Sirius's or James's or Lily's or Peter's names were mentioned. It was the murder of his only friends and the orphaning of poor, young Harry. It was also the stinging betrayal of a lover, but most of all it was that everyone was so eager to just forget the sacrifices and horrors of the war in exchange for jubilation. No one cared that Harry Potter would grow up without parents, all that mattered was the fact that he had survived the Avada Kedavra and killed Voldemort dead.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Remus moved finally, shutting the icebox and bending down to pick up the fallen milk bottle. He'd mop up the mess later- perhaps the rancid scent of the rotting milk would do something to rid his living area of the stink of dog. He stormed outside again and was almost shocked to see that the motorcycle was still sitting there, tilted slightly to one side in a manner that was rather anxious. He didn't know why he was surprised, perhaps because he felt as if he were living in one long, waking and breathing nightmare and the vehicle was all a part of it. He stopped in his tracks and glared at it, as if it were a person and as if that person were at fault, but his gaze softened. He approached the contraption cautiously, resting one hand against the handlebars, engine casing, leather seating.

"Well, if this is all a dream," he began softly, the violence not completely gone from his voice, "I suppose I should take care of you just in case Sirius comes along to wake me up." He watched the motorcycle meaningfully, and the way the black metal caught the stray rays of sunset seemed almost to be an agreement.

~*~

"You kept it." It would have been a question had the subject of the inquiry not been present. Sirius ran one, long hand down the length of his motorcycle, following it around with a look of awe painted across his gaunt features. He raised his eyes and grinned, "She even works!"

Remus coughed, "Yes, well."

It was still the same house, where once Sirius had occupied every corner to an extent that made Remus feel a stranger, it was now the place Remus had slept in alone for the past thirteen years. Sirius felt rather out of place wandering up the broken, stone-cobbled path to cross the whether-warped threshold. An invader, the escaped convict in the holy land, or perhaps just a ghost of the past returning to haunt an old lover.

"I don't know what to say, Moony." he shook his head and took a few steps closer, "Well, I guess I'm impressed. I didn't realized you knew anything about Muggle vehicles."

"I didn't." Remus smiled that faint, lopsided smile of his, some of that old Maurader mischeif still burning under all the stress lines and gray hairs, "I read up on it some. I had plenty of free time. You know I got fired the day they took you in." he was much too young to have gray hairs.

"Thank you," he said akwardly, "I guess..." two more steps. He reached out and caught Remus's cheek in one jail-roughened hand and the smaller man's eyelashes flutterd slightly before he pulled away in a grand motion, crossing his arms.

"I-I'm sorry, Sirius." he stumbled, flustered but doing it in a way that makes blushing seem an act of scholorary intellect, "I... I just..."

"It's just not the same. You're not ready..."

Remus nodded slowly, "It's hard to explain, Sirius. I spent so long hating you it's hard to just... pretend nothing ever happened."

Sirius understood the conflicted expression Remus was wearing. He was all too familiar with the burning rage and the cruelest memories that bore sadistic and beautiful fantasies that only became full and real in the darkest hours on the wrong side of midnight. He could almost hear the ragged sobs and the whispering pleas to un-take vows and un-make promises. But still he hated, and still he loved and still he hoped that Remus didn't need as much time as he himself did because time was the one thing they didn't have.

Sirius sighed in time with the late October wind and followed Remus into the house. The thirs step in creaked loudly in protest when he rested his weight upon it and Sirius noted that Remus was allowed to enter without complaint. Funny that when Sirius had lived within those four walls, Remus had felt so out of place in his own home. Now that the house was truly his, it was clear that Sirius was not welcome.

Sirius wondered if they would ever get it right. And then he wondered if they were ever supposed to.

;fin


End file.
